Martha Wells's Blog, page 180
July 4, 2011
If you're having a holiday today, I hope you're having a ...
If you're having a holiday today, I hope you're having a good one. We didn't make plans, because it's hot with a chance of fire again today. Like, really hot. Like Tatooine, Vulcan's Forge, our orbit has deteriorated and we are falling into the sun hot. We did go to a friend's house and had grilled hamburgers with cheese, bacon, and avocado, and watched the new episode of True Blood. Now I'm working on chapters twelve (still) and thirteen of the third Cloud Roads book.
That's about it.
Jay Lake linked to this entry at Dark Roasted Blend: The Mysterious Minaret of Jam
Built back in 1190s by the once great Ghorid empire, this enigmatic and intricately-ornamented ancient "skyscraper" stands like a missile pointing at the stars - a 65-meter high minaret, the second biggest religious monument of its kind in the world.
Originally it was topped by the lantern - making it a sort of the dry land lighthouse (!), surrounded by the 2400m high mountains:
That's about it.
Jay Lake linked to this entry at Dark Roasted Blend: The Mysterious Minaret of Jam
Built back in 1190s by the once great Ghorid empire, this enigmatic and intricately-ornamented ancient "skyscraper" stands like a missile pointing at the stars - a 65-meter high minaret, the second biggest religious monument of its kind in the world.
Originally it was topped by the lantern - making it a sort of the dry land lighthouse (!), surrounded by the 2400m high mountains:
July 3, 2011
Snippet Post 5 Plus Links
From
![[info]](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/hostedimages/1380451598i/2033940.gif)
kateelliott
: Something Greater: An Epic Discussion of Epic Fantasy, Part 1 by Jeremy L. C. Jones He did interviews with 26 writers, 13 male and 13 female, on why they write epic fantasy.
Common Dreams: The Movement to Abolish Corporate Personhood
Snippets:
This is another snippet post for the Clarion West Write-a-thon:
From The Serpent Sea, second book in The Cloud Roads series. Moon meets a queen that's even bigger and scarier than Pearl.
Then a faint sound from above made everyone look up. Someone was climbing down the wall, and Moon didn't need anyone to tell him that this was Ice, the reigning queen.
She was easily twice Pearl's size, and her scales looked pale, barely tinted with yellow, but reflected warm gold as the light struck them; she was so old she had started to lose her color. Her frills had grown long and wispy, like frayed silk; when she partly extended her wings to balance, Moon could see the bones outlined through the near-translucent skin. She had to be much older than Shadow, who was mature but hadn't begun to show noticeable gray on his groundling skin. Moon wondered how many consorts she had outlived.
She reached the floor, then Shadow half-dropped, half-glided down after her. He shifted to groundling and they both moved to join the other queens. Ice sat down on the cushions that waited for her, Shadow taking a seat beside her.
If Tempest was supposed to make the formal introduction of Jade, Ice didn't wait for it. She said, "Jade, sister queen of Indigo Cloud. You have a lovely young consort. May he come closer?"
This one is from The Wizard Hunters, with Tremaine being Tremaine, with Florian realizing for the first time that her friend is a little different. Again, 2003 was not a good time to publish a steampunkish novel. And the cover was beautiful art, but looked a bit more SF than fantasy.
Tremaine looked up at him, trying to hold the mental image of a meek little missionary woman. She knew she couldn't stall much longer but every moment of delay counted. "We've been hiding them," she said.
Gervas dropped the medallion and lifted his hand. Tremaine had time to see it was going to be an open-handed slap before the blow spun her around into the table. She caught herself awkwardly, heard Florian give an involuntary yell of protest. Blinking, carefully putting a hand to her aching jaw, she looked up. Florian must have started forward because one of the guards had her by the arm, twisting it painfully to keep her back. Gervas' expression hadn't changed. He lifted the medallion again and said calmly, "You lie."
"About what?" Tremaine asked, still trying to look innocent and wishing she had thought of a different plan.
"You--" Gervas caught himself. He stared at her, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You are not a missionary."
Stalling is over, Tremaine thought. Oh, well. "Give me a chance to prove it." She carefully wiped blood away from her mouth, trying to ignore the fact that her hand was shaking, and grinned at him. "Why don't you ask me some questions about religion?"
Gervas smiled thinly, then dropped the medallion and turned to speak in his own language to the patrol leader. This is over and we're dead, whatever happens, Tremaine thought, sick. She found herself staring at the holstered pistol of the guard standing near her, almost within her reach. Might as well go out with a bang. She had actually swayed toward the weapon when running footsteps sounded outside one of the other doors. It banged open and another Gardier leaned in, speaking urgently.
The patrol leader tensed, looking toward Gervas, who muttered in frustration and snapped an order to one of the guards. The man strode over to the other door and opened it.
Gervas turned to them. Touching the medallion around his neck, he said, "Get in there," punctuating the order with a shove to Florian's shoulder. Florian turned, glaring at him, but moved into the room. Tremaine got a shove too and stumbled after her.
He slammed the door shut and Tremaine heard the lock click. She turned around to see another bare room with a long metal table and chairs, lit by three bulbs suspended from the ceiling. There was a large sheet of paper tacked to the wall, covered with writing in an incomprehensible script. Florian shoved her hair back and started to speak but Tremaine hastily motioned her to be silent.
She stepped to the door to press her ear against it, listening. She heard the men speaking in their own language again in some urgency, then their boots on the stone as they walked away.
Tremaine turned to ask in a whisper, "They have a translator spell; have you ever heard of a translator spell before?"
Florian shook her head. "I've seen one that translates documents; you can make the writing appear in a mirror in another language. But it only works when the person casting it knows both the languages so there's really not much point to it."
Tremaine nodded. The translator was something else Gerard and Niles and the others at the Institute would give a great deal to know about. She frowned. "And the Gardier are capturing civilians as slave labor. Did we know that?" She could see why the government would have concealed that little detail; people were panicked enough already.
"I didn't." Florian grimaced. "If we can just get home, the invasion troop can rescue them." She looked over the room. "Strange. There's no switches or pull cords for the lights. We can't turn them off."
Tremaine's face was going numb and to distract herself she moved to the far wall to study the paper tacked there. It was mounted on a wooden board, with long pins topped with different colored beads stuck in it to mark various paragraphs. It was obviously a checklist or an agenda or something similar. "Why do you want to turn the lights out?"
"So we could lure them in and...." Florian's brows drew together as she considered the variables in that plan.
"Get beaten up?"
"Something like that." She added abruptly, "You didn't flinch."
Busy working one of the long pins out of the wall, Tremaine glanced up, confused. "What?"
Florian pushed her hair back, looking confused too. "When he was about to hit you. You just...watched him. It was creepy."
"Well, yes," Tremaine had to admit. "I should have flinched. It made him more suspicious when I didn't." Thinking that hindsight was a wonderful thing, she stepped back to the door to listen at it again.
kateelliott
: Something Greater: An Epic Discussion of Epic Fantasy, Part 1 by Jeremy L. C. Jones He did interviews with 26 writers, 13 male and 13 female, on why they write epic fantasy.Common Dreams: The Movement to Abolish Corporate Personhood
Snippets:
This is another snippet post for the Clarion West Write-a-thon:
From The Serpent Sea, second book in The Cloud Roads series. Moon meets a queen that's even bigger and scarier than Pearl.
Then a faint sound from above made everyone look up. Someone was climbing down the wall, and Moon didn't need anyone to tell him that this was Ice, the reigning queen.
She was easily twice Pearl's size, and her scales looked pale, barely tinted with yellow, but reflected warm gold as the light struck them; she was so old she had started to lose her color. Her frills had grown long and wispy, like frayed silk; when she partly extended her wings to balance, Moon could see the bones outlined through the near-translucent skin. She had to be much older than Shadow, who was mature but hadn't begun to show noticeable gray on his groundling skin. Moon wondered how many consorts she had outlived.
She reached the floor, then Shadow half-dropped, half-glided down after her. He shifted to groundling and they both moved to join the other queens. Ice sat down on the cushions that waited for her, Shadow taking a seat beside her.
If Tempest was supposed to make the formal introduction of Jade, Ice didn't wait for it. She said, "Jade, sister queen of Indigo Cloud. You have a lovely young consort. May he come closer?"
This one is from The Wizard Hunters, with Tremaine being Tremaine, with Florian realizing for the first time that her friend is a little different. Again, 2003 was not a good time to publish a steampunkish novel. And the cover was beautiful art, but looked a bit more SF than fantasy.
Tremaine looked up at him, trying to hold the mental image of a meek little missionary woman. She knew she couldn't stall much longer but every moment of delay counted. "We've been hiding them," she said.
Gervas dropped the medallion and lifted his hand. Tremaine had time to see it was going to be an open-handed slap before the blow spun her around into the table. She caught herself awkwardly, heard Florian give an involuntary yell of protest. Blinking, carefully putting a hand to her aching jaw, she looked up. Florian must have started forward because one of the guards had her by the arm, twisting it painfully to keep her back. Gervas' expression hadn't changed. He lifted the medallion again and said calmly, "You lie."
"About what?" Tremaine asked, still trying to look innocent and wishing she had thought of a different plan.
"You--" Gervas caught himself. He stared at her, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You are not a missionary."
Stalling is over, Tremaine thought. Oh, well. "Give me a chance to prove it." She carefully wiped blood away from her mouth, trying to ignore the fact that her hand was shaking, and grinned at him. "Why don't you ask me some questions about religion?"
Gervas smiled thinly, then dropped the medallion and turned to speak in his own language to the patrol leader. This is over and we're dead, whatever happens, Tremaine thought, sick. She found herself staring at the holstered pistol of the guard standing near her, almost within her reach. Might as well go out with a bang. She had actually swayed toward the weapon when running footsteps sounded outside one of the other doors. It banged open and another Gardier leaned in, speaking urgently.
The patrol leader tensed, looking toward Gervas, who muttered in frustration and snapped an order to one of the guards. The man strode over to the other door and opened it.
Gervas turned to them. Touching the medallion around his neck, he said, "Get in there," punctuating the order with a shove to Florian's shoulder. Florian turned, glaring at him, but moved into the room. Tremaine got a shove too and stumbled after her.
He slammed the door shut and Tremaine heard the lock click. She turned around to see another bare room with a long metal table and chairs, lit by three bulbs suspended from the ceiling. There was a large sheet of paper tacked to the wall, covered with writing in an incomprehensible script. Florian shoved her hair back and started to speak but Tremaine hastily motioned her to be silent.
She stepped to the door to press her ear against it, listening. She heard the men speaking in their own language again in some urgency, then their boots on the stone as they walked away.
Tremaine turned to ask in a whisper, "They have a translator spell; have you ever heard of a translator spell before?"
Florian shook her head. "I've seen one that translates documents; you can make the writing appear in a mirror in another language. But it only works when the person casting it knows both the languages so there's really not much point to it."
Tremaine nodded. The translator was something else Gerard and Niles and the others at the Institute would give a great deal to know about. She frowned. "And the Gardier are capturing civilians as slave labor. Did we know that?" She could see why the government would have concealed that little detail; people were panicked enough already.
"I didn't." Florian grimaced. "If we can just get home, the invasion troop can rescue them." She looked over the room. "Strange. There's no switches or pull cords for the lights. We can't turn them off."
Tremaine's face was going numb and to distract herself she moved to the far wall to study the paper tacked there. It was mounted on a wooden board, with long pins topped with different colored beads stuck in it to mark various paragraphs. It was obviously a checklist or an agenda or something similar. "Why do you want to turn the lights out?"
"So we could lure them in and...." Florian's brows drew together as she considered the variables in that plan.
"Get beaten up?"
"Something like that." She added abruptly, "You didn't flinch."
Busy working one of the long pins out of the wall, Tremaine glanced up, confused. "What?"
Florian pushed her hair back, looking confused too. "When he was about to hit you. You just...watched him. It was creepy."
"Well, yes," Tremaine had to admit. "I should have flinched. It made him more suspicious when I didn't." Thinking that hindsight was a wonderful thing, she stepped back to the door to listen at it again.
July 1, 2011
Snippet Post 4 Plus Links
I spent most of yesterday with a friend at the doctor's office, waiting for appointments that went unexpectedly long. It's weird how tiring it is to sit around in a waiting room. I brought my laptop and worked, but it didn't exactly involve heavy lifting or ditch digging, so I have no idea why it wore me out.
Links:
I did a guest post on SF Signal on my NASA tour: Martha Wells: NASA Up Close and Personal, for SF/F Writers and Editors
Diversity in YA Fiction: the Diversify Your Summer Reading Challenge!
Snippets:
This is another longish snippet post for the Clarion West Write-a-thon:
One from The Serpent Sea, second book in The Cloud Roads series. More Raksuran gender politics:
Another queen glided down from an upper balcony to land in the hall. Her scales were silver-gray, with a web-tracery of brilliant green. Moon expected to see her turn to go down one of the passages, but instead she furled her wings and started toward them.
Her pace was deliberate and she lashed her tail lazily. Sounding bewildered, Song whispered, "What is she doing--" and Vine and Chime shushed her. The queen had the attention of the whole hall, everyone staring. At least the Raksura who lived here seemed to be just as taken aback by this as they were. Willow actually looked alarmed.
The queen came closer, focusing on Moon and ignoring the others. She stopped only a pace away, her gaze a threat and a challenge. Moon's shoulders tensed, his back itching to lift spines he didn't have at the moment. Then she said, "What a pretty thing. I'm surprised your queen leaves you unguarded."
Moon pushed to his feet, the movement slow and deliberate. She was a little shorter than him, which meant she was younger than Jade. He said, "Maybe she thought this was a civilized place." Behind him he heard a startled snort, possibly from Floret.
Startled, the queen lifted her spines sharply. He realized she had expected him to be too intimidated to respond. Compared to Pearl, she just wasn't that intimidating. She snarled, "This is a civilized place. But if you're foolish enough to challenge me, don't think I'll spare you."
Behind him, the others stood now, and they had the attention of the entire nervously silent hall. It occurred to Moon belatedly that he should have ignored the queen. He hadn't been introduced yet and no one from Emerald Twilight was supposed to be talking to him, so the breach of etiquette would have been all on her side. It was too late now. He tilted his head. "If you want to fight, then attack me." As a queen she could keep him from shifting, or at least try to; but if she leapt on him while he was trapped in groundling form he doubted it would reflect well on Emerald Twilight.
She leaned toward him and hissed in fury. "If I thought you were serious--"
A dark shape dropped from an upper balcony, landed lightly on the floor just a few paces away. The queen flinched back from Moon, and the others twitched away, startled. Song shifted to her winged form, then shifted back when Balm hissed at her. Moon didn't move; the newcomer was another consort.
He was nearly half a head taller than Moon, his shoulders broader. His black scales gleamed in the soft light with a faint red undersheen, and his eyes were a dark deep brown. He dropped his spines and folded his half-furled wings, his hard gaze never leaving the young queen. Then he shifted to groundling.
He had even handsome features, dark bronze skin, and was lean but strongly built. He was dressed in dark clothes and wore a gold band around his upper arm, over the silken material of his shirt, that was studded with polished red stones. Small gold hoops pierced his ears, all the way up the curves. He tilted his head at the queen and said, dryly, "Ash. What are you doing?"
She flared her spines. "Since when do you greet unwanted guests?"
He didn't respond to that obvious attempt at distraction. "Must I speak to your mother of this?"
Ash hesitated, half-snarling, then turned abruptly away and strode out of the greeting hall toward the outer platform.
The consort turned to Moon, eyeing him thoughtfully. Then he stepped closer. It should have been threatening, but Moon had to still the impulse to lean toward him. There was something about him, that ability to draw you in, the same power that Pearl had. With the consort it was easier to resist, and Moon couldn't tell if he was doing it consciously or not. He touched Moon under the chin, a light pressure that made Moon lift his head slightly. It was a challenge, but Moon didn't growl, didn't twitch away; he might still know little about how Raksura behaved, but he knew this wasn't that kind of challenge.
Then the consort said, "You're feral."
And one from City of Bones:
Khat dropped down onto the cracked sandy brick of his home roof from a projecting ledge on the next house. He had hoped to make an inconspicuous return, but Ris was climbing up the ladder through the roof trap and immediately called down one of the vents, "It's Khat, and he's been beaten up again."
Ignoring him, the krismen found a pile of old matting and flopped down onto it. He didn't want to go down into the house until exposure to the city deadened his sense of smell again. His own odor was bad enough, but the nearest bathhouse was several courts away, and he didn't feel like walking that far, even to get rid of the dried blood.
Ris came over and peered curiously down at him, taking care not to come too close. "What happened?"
An arm flung over his eyes, Khat said, "Go away," in a tone that didn't invite argument.
The ladder rattled, and Sagai's voice seconded him. "Go home, Ris."
Khat lowered his arm to look up at his partner, who winced at the damage. He was lucky Sagai was not the kind of person who said "I told you so."
Disregarding Khat's protests and threats, Sagai examined the knot on the back of his head. "Not so bad," he pronounced finally. "Better than usual, I think."
"What's wrong down there?" an irritated neighbor asked suddenly from the overhanging window of the next house.
"Nothing," Sagai called back, a growl in his voice. "The day's excitement is over. Go to bed."
The neighbor withdrew, grumbling.
"Now," Sagai said in a softer tone. "What happened?"
Khat sat up on one elbow and told him all of it, leaving out nothing except his first encounter with Constans. He wanted to think about that a bit more before he talked about it, and told himself he would mention it to Sagai later.
Sagai was far more interested in relics than in Warders, anyway. "A new Survivor text in Ancient Script? Intact?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with the light of discovery. Finally someone was giving the find the attention it deserved. Relics weren't a trade, they were a passion. It makes us unique, Khat thought. Did peddlers get passionate over pots? Sagai said, "What I would give to see it, to handle it ... You read much of it? What was it called?"
"On the Motion of Thestinti. I read bits and pieces. It was confusing; I couldn't follow what it was trying to say. And I didn't want Riathen to realize I could read it." He wished his partner had been with him, for that at least. Sagai, who had studied Ancient Script in the Scholars' Guild in Kenniliar, was better at deciphering the intricacies of it than Khat. "What does thestinti mean?"
"That's a difficult one. I don't suppose you remember the intonation markers?"
"No, I was a little distracted at the time."
"Hmm. It could mean walls, barriers..."
"I don't think it was about architecture," Khat said. "I could read the words, but they didn't make sense to me. Something about 'to enter and leave by the western doors of the sky' and 'to know the souls of the Inhabitants of the West.'"
"And there was no dynastical seal, I assume?"
"No, not one of the Recognizable Seven, anyway. I wasn't looking for one of the Hundred Hypothetical." Amateurs were always claiming to find new dynastical seals; the Academia kept a register of them, and some scholars worked their whole lives to verify them, though none had been added to the Recognizable list in decades.
"Perhaps it's a philosophical work. You said the Warders believed it related to their power. The Walls of the Mind, maybe. The Academia would be interested. Thousands of coins' worth interested. An intact text of Ancient Script and a piece of an arcane engine that can actually be associated with a Remnant. Why, it might lead to a proof of Robelin's theory about the Remnants' housing arcane engines. Treasures beyond price! I can hardly believe it."
Khat didn't want to dampen his partner's excitement by pointing out how unlikely it was that either of them would ever have another chance to closely examine the text or the engine relic again. "I doubt Riathen wants to sell them."
"No." Sagai sighed, and looked away over the dirty rooftops to the east, past the low clusters of mud-brick houses to where the tier's rim dropped away and the Fringe desert and the Waste stretched out forever, the black rock featureless in the distance. The breeze was up, and the night that was never quiet inside Charisat was at least calm, with the rumble of handcarts from the streets and the shouting and scuffling from the more combative denizens of the nearby courts seeming far away. "He will hide them, and fight for them, and worship them, perhaps. And never think to sell them to the Academia, where the scholars could glean far more knowledge from them than he ever could."
Links:
I did a guest post on SF Signal on my NASA tour: Martha Wells: NASA Up Close and Personal, for SF/F Writers and Editors
Diversity in YA Fiction: the Diversify Your Summer Reading Challenge!
Snippets:
This is another longish snippet post for the Clarion West Write-a-thon:
One from The Serpent Sea, second book in The Cloud Roads series. More Raksuran gender politics:
Another queen glided down from an upper balcony to land in the hall. Her scales were silver-gray, with a web-tracery of brilliant green. Moon expected to see her turn to go down one of the passages, but instead she furled her wings and started toward them.
Her pace was deliberate and she lashed her tail lazily. Sounding bewildered, Song whispered, "What is she doing--" and Vine and Chime shushed her. The queen had the attention of the whole hall, everyone staring. At least the Raksura who lived here seemed to be just as taken aback by this as they were. Willow actually looked alarmed.
The queen came closer, focusing on Moon and ignoring the others. She stopped only a pace away, her gaze a threat and a challenge. Moon's shoulders tensed, his back itching to lift spines he didn't have at the moment. Then she said, "What a pretty thing. I'm surprised your queen leaves you unguarded."
Moon pushed to his feet, the movement slow and deliberate. She was a little shorter than him, which meant she was younger than Jade. He said, "Maybe she thought this was a civilized place." Behind him he heard a startled snort, possibly from Floret.
Startled, the queen lifted her spines sharply. He realized she had expected him to be too intimidated to respond. Compared to Pearl, she just wasn't that intimidating. She snarled, "This is a civilized place. But if you're foolish enough to challenge me, don't think I'll spare you."
Behind him, the others stood now, and they had the attention of the entire nervously silent hall. It occurred to Moon belatedly that he should have ignored the queen. He hadn't been introduced yet and no one from Emerald Twilight was supposed to be talking to him, so the breach of etiquette would have been all on her side. It was too late now. He tilted his head. "If you want to fight, then attack me." As a queen she could keep him from shifting, or at least try to; but if she leapt on him while he was trapped in groundling form he doubted it would reflect well on Emerald Twilight.
She leaned toward him and hissed in fury. "If I thought you were serious--"
A dark shape dropped from an upper balcony, landed lightly on the floor just a few paces away. The queen flinched back from Moon, and the others twitched away, startled. Song shifted to her winged form, then shifted back when Balm hissed at her. Moon didn't move; the newcomer was another consort.
He was nearly half a head taller than Moon, his shoulders broader. His black scales gleamed in the soft light with a faint red undersheen, and his eyes were a dark deep brown. He dropped his spines and folded his half-furled wings, his hard gaze never leaving the young queen. Then he shifted to groundling.
He had even handsome features, dark bronze skin, and was lean but strongly built. He was dressed in dark clothes and wore a gold band around his upper arm, over the silken material of his shirt, that was studded with polished red stones. Small gold hoops pierced his ears, all the way up the curves. He tilted his head at the queen and said, dryly, "Ash. What are you doing?"
She flared her spines. "Since when do you greet unwanted guests?"
He didn't respond to that obvious attempt at distraction. "Must I speak to your mother of this?"
Ash hesitated, half-snarling, then turned abruptly away and strode out of the greeting hall toward the outer platform.
The consort turned to Moon, eyeing him thoughtfully. Then he stepped closer. It should have been threatening, but Moon had to still the impulse to lean toward him. There was something about him, that ability to draw you in, the same power that Pearl had. With the consort it was easier to resist, and Moon couldn't tell if he was doing it consciously or not. He touched Moon under the chin, a light pressure that made Moon lift his head slightly. It was a challenge, but Moon didn't growl, didn't twitch away; he might still know little about how Raksura behaved, but he knew this wasn't that kind of challenge.
Then the consort said, "You're feral."
And one from City of Bones:
Khat dropped down onto the cracked sandy brick of his home roof from a projecting ledge on the next house. He had hoped to make an inconspicuous return, but Ris was climbing up the ladder through the roof trap and immediately called down one of the vents, "It's Khat, and he's been beaten up again."
Ignoring him, the krismen found a pile of old matting and flopped down onto it. He didn't want to go down into the house until exposure to the city deadened his sense of smell again. His own odor was bad enough, but the nearest bathhouse was several courts away, and he didn't feel like walking that far, even to get rid of the dried blood.
Ris came over and peered curiously down at him, taking care not to come too close. "What happened?"
An arm flung over his eyes, Khat said, "Go away," in a tone that didn't invite argument.
The ladder rattled, and Sagai's voice seconded him. "Go home, Ris."
Khat lowered his arm to look up at his partner, who winced at the damage. He was lucky Sagai was not the kind of person who said "I told you so."
Disregarding Khat's protests and threats, Sagai examined the knot on the back of his head. "Not so bad," he pronounced finally. "Better than usual, I think."
"What's wrong down there?" an irritated neighbor asked suddenly from the overhanging window of the next house.
"Nothing," Sagai called back, a growl in his voice. "The day's excitement is over. Go to bed."
The neighbor withdrew, grumbling.
"Now," Sagai said in a softer tone. "What happened?"
Khat sat up on one elbow and told him all of it, leaving out nothing except his first encounter with Constans. He wanted to think about that a bit more before he talked about it, and told himself he would mention it to Sagai later.
Sagai was far more interested in relics than in Warders, anyway. "A new Survivor text in Ancient Script? Intact?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with the light of discovery. Finally someone was giving the find the attention it deserved. Relics weren't a trade, they were a passion. It makes us unique, Khat thought. Did peddlers get passionate over pots? Sagai said, "What I would give to see it, to handle it ... You read much of it? What was it called?"
"On the Motion of Thestinti. I read bits and pieces. It was confusing; I couldn't follow what it was trying to say. And I didn't want Riathen to realize I could read it." He wished his partner had been with him, for that at least. Sagai, who had studied Ancient Script in the Scholars' Guild in Kenniliar, was better at deciphering the intricacies of it than Khat. "What does thestinti mean?"
"That's a difficult one. I don't suppose you remember the intonation markers?"
"No, I was a little distracted at the time."
"Hmm. It could mean walls, barriers..."
"I don't think it was about architecture," Khat said. "I could read the words, but they didn't make sense to me. Something about 'to enter and leave by the western doors of the sky' and 'to know the souls of the Inhabitants of the West.'"
"And there was no dynastical seal, I assume?"
"No, not one of the Recognizable Seven, anyway. I wasn't looking for one of the Hundred Hypothetical." Amateurs were always claiming to find new dynastical seals; the Academia kept a register of them, and some scholars worked their whole lives to verify them, though none had been added to the Recognizable list in decades.
"Perhaps it's a philosophical work. You said the Warders believed it related to their power. The Walls of the Mind, maybe. The Academia would be interested. Thousands of coins' worth interested. An intact text of Ancient Script and a piece of an arcane engine that can actually be associated with a Remnant. Why, it might lead to a proof of Robelin's theory about the Remnants' housing arcane engines. Treasures beyond price! I can hardly believe it."
Khat didn't want to dampen his partner's excitement by pointing out how unlikely it was that either of them would ever have another chance to closely examine the text or the engine relic again. "I doubt Riathen wants to sell them."
"No." Sagai sighed, and looked away over the dirty rooftops to the east, past the low clusters of mud-brick houses to where the tier's rim dropped away and the Fringe desert and the Waste stretched out forever, the black rock featureless in the distance. The breeze was up, and the night that was never quiet inside Charisat was at least calm, with the rumble of handcarts from the streets and the shouting and scuffling from the more combative denizens of the nearby courts seeming far away. "He will hide them, and fight for them, and worship them, perhaps. And never think to sell them to the Academia, where the scholars could glean far more knowledge from them than he ever could."
June 30, 2011
I'll be out some today, so not sure how much I'll be arou...
I'll be out some today, so not sure how much I'll be around online. It's also Book Scan day, the day you find out exactly how much your book is not selling, which is going to be depressing.
I am going to be having a post up later today at SF Signal, a more coherent description of our NASA trip. I'll try to post when it goes live.
Links:
One about me! Steve Gould: What I'm reading: Martha Wells
She is a fantasy writer but there is something science fictional about her world building. Cloud Roads has this cool multi-race (and by race, I suppose I mean multi-species world ranging from variety of humanoids forms to bug-like hive creatures and primarily two races that shift from "groundling" to a flying form. All of these species are sentient and the cultural interactions are fascinating. (There are non-sentient species around, too.)
Book View Cafe: It Doesn't Have To Be the Way It Is by Ursula K. LeGuin
This is a good explanation of why kids (and adults) often get so much grief for reading (and writing) fantasy:
Subversion doesn't suit people who, feeling their adjustment to life has been successful, want things to go on just as they are, or people who need support from authority assuring them that things are as they have to be. Fantasy not only asks "What if things didn't go on just as they do?" but demonstrates what they might be like if they went otherwise — thus gnawing at the very foundation of the belief that things have to be the way they are.
So here imagination and fundamentalism come into conflict.
A fully created imaginary world is a mental construct similar in many respects to a religious or other cosmology. This similarity, if noticed, can be deeply disturbing to the orthodox mind.
Jody Hedlund: 6 Benefits of Having an Agent in Today's Publishing World
James Patrick Kelly is publishing a new ezine: Strangeways
I am going to be having a post up later today at SF Signal, a more coherent description of our NASA trip. I'll try to post when it goes live.
Links:
One about me! Steve Gould: What I'm reading: Martha Wells
She is a fantasy writer but there is something science fictional about her world building. Cloud Roads has this cool multi-race (and by race, I suppose I mean multi-species world ranging from variety of humanoids forms to bug-like hive creatures and primarily two races that shift from "groundling" to a flying form. All of these species are sentient and the cultural interactions are fascinating. (There are non-sentient species around, too.)
Book View Cafe: It Doesn't Have To Be the Way It Is by Ursula K. LeGuin
This is a good explanation of why kids (and adults) often get so much grief for reading (and writing) fantasy:
Subversion doesn't suit people who, feeling their adjustment to life has been successful, want things to go on just as they are, or people who need support from authority assuring them that things are as they have to be. Fantasy not only asks "What if things didn't go on just as they do?" but demonstrates what they might be like if they went otherwise — thus gnawing at the very foundation of the belief that things have to be the way they are.
So here imagination and fundamentalism come into conflict.
A fully created imaginary world is a mental construct similar in many respects to a religious or other cosmology. This similarity, if noticed, can be deeply disturbing to the orthodox mind.
Jody Hedlund: 6 Benefits of Having an Agent in Today's Publishing World
James Patrick Kelly is publishing a new ezine: Strangeways
June 29, 2011
Snippet Post 3
This is another longish snippet post for the Clarion West Write-a-thon:
One from The Serpent Sea, second book in The Cloud Roads series. This is a bit of Raksuran gender politics:
Stone scratched his neck, and added thoughtfully, "We almost went to war with Emerald Twilight, before Indigo Cloud left the Reaches."
There was a startled murmur from everyone. "War?" Flower repeated, incredulous.
"Are you serious?" Jade demanded.
Pearl lifted her spines. "Was it something you did? Just tell us."
Stone glared at her. "I was barely ten turns old." Under Jade and Pearl's concentrated stares, he admitted, "Indigo stole Cloud from a daughter queen at Emerald Twilight. I forget her name."
"Stole?" It was Moon's turn to stare. "What...how... That can happen?"
"We can only hope," River put in, nastily. Drift snickered.
Moon met River's gaze in deliberate challenge. "Do you need another beating?"
"Quiet, both of you," Pearl snapped. She turned back to Stone. "Was Cloud taken?"
"Yes. The daughter queen took him when he was too young, and after a few turns, it wasn't working out. There was no clutch yet." Stone shrugged. "At least that's our side of the story. I have no idea if that's actually true or not."
Bone shook his head, affronted. "Is this even in the histories?"
Flower groaned and rubbed her eyes. "I've never seen it there. And I'm fairly certain I'd remember."
This sounded serious. Nobody seemed to think that maybe Emerald Twilight would have forgotten the incident by now. Moon wasn't even sure what they meant by "stolen." Kidnapped, carried off? Like the Fell did with the Arbora? He didn't need anything new to worry about.
Jade tapped her claws on the floor, impatient. "How did it happen?"
Stone said, "This was when Indigo was still a sister queen -- when her mother Cerise was still alive -- and she was visiting Emerald Twilight. She saw Cloud and just...grabbed him. Half the queens in the Reaches got together to settle it to prevent a war, and by that time Indigo had talked Cloud into accepting her and reputing his first queen. The other queens talked Emerald Twilight into letting it go." He spread his hands. "It was a successful match. Indigo succeeded as reigning queen, the court renamed itself after her and Cloud, and they led us to a new colony when this one started to fail. They had eight clutches. But I have no idea how Emerald Twilight sees it."
There was a silence, as everyone digested that. Bell and Knell exchanged an uneasy glance. Bone just looked disgruntled.
Chime cleared his throat. He said tentatively, "Maybe this would be a good time to revisit the discussion about changing the court's name?"
And one from The Ships of Air. This is aboard the Queen Ravenna, a giant steam ocean liner carrying refugees across the sea in another dimension.
Giliead stopped in the corridor, turning into one of the vestibules. "There's something here. Just a trace." He hesitated, touching the dark-panelled wall lightly.
The door he had chosen stood open and Tremaine could hear Rienish voices inside. She stepped past him and knocked on the open door. "Hello? Could we have a word?"
"Yes? Oh, hello." It was a young girl in a jumper, two little boys playing with wooden blocks on the floor at her feet. There was an old woman sitting on the couch, humming to herself and working on a stretch of cloth with thread and needle. She didn't stop working but her cloudy blue eyes lifted to study Tremaine, then Florian and the two Syprians.
"Hello." Florian glanced at Tremaine, correctly interpreted her blank expression, and managed, "We're just...oh, taking a survey. Who's staying in your cabin, and where are they now, and that sort of thing."
"Oh." The girl managed to tear her eyes off the exotic sight of Giliead and Ilias in her doorway and gestured to the old woman. "It's just me and grandmother and the boys. Lady Aviler came asking for volunteers and my mother went."
"In the laundry?" Tremaine asked, eyeing the grandmother. According to the patrols, most of the civilian activity aboard the ship last night had centered in the hospital and the laundry. If the attempt on the Isolation Ward had been made by a sorcerer and not something that had managed to get aboard from the island, then chances were it was a refugee with a good excuse for wandering the ship at night.
The girl assured her, "No, the kitchens."
"Ah." Tremaine glanced at Giliead, asking in Syrnaic, "Is it grandma there?"
"Yes, but...." He shrugged slightly, meeting the old woman's cloudy blue gaze. "She doesn't feel dangerous."
Ilias leaned against the doorframe, explaining, "When they're real old like that and not doing any harm we usually just pretend we didn't find them."
Tremaine nodded, not sure if that said something about Syprians in general or Ilias and Giliead in particular. She turned to the young girl again and mentally switched back to Rienish. "Ah...." Might as well be direct. "Is your grandmother a sorceress or a witch by any chance?"
Either the girl was an excellent actress or was genuinely surprised at the question. "Oh, no, madam."
"So she can't cast?" Florian clarified, glancing at the imperturbable old woman.
"Oh, she can cast and heal, but she can't fly or anything." The girl made an extravagant gesture, apparently indicating Great Spells, major wards and raising fayre islands.
"I see." Tremaine bit her lip in thought. "Has she been in the laundry lately?"
The girl seemed bewildered by Tremaine's fixation on the laundry. "No, do they need help there?"
"I'll mention her to Doctor Divies," Florian put in hastily, taking Tremaine's arm to steer her out of the room. "If she can heal they might need her down in the hospital."
"Oh, she'd like that."
As they returned to the corridor, Tremaine explained in Syrnaic, "Anybody with any real magical talent got recruited for something like the army or the Institute or trapped behind the barrier at Lodun. The ones who are left are going to be either a hundred years old like that woman or completely untrained children."
Giliead looked down the corridor with a preoccupied expression, not seeing their curious audience. "If it's a Rienish wizard, this isn't going to be easy."
Ilias nodded, his face resigned. "And if it's a Gardier wizard, there's a lot of places to hide on this ship."
Tremaine flipped through the map book again, thinking it over. The assigned living areas had been colored in with a pencil, not that that told her much. Lady Aviler and her minions had been keeping a rough list of cabin assignments; they would have to get a look at that too. Some of Second and all of Third Class should be uninhabited. Though, she supposed, there was nothing to keep people from taking those rooms except that they were smaller and less nicely appointed. Some of those rescued from the Gardier might very well have chosen to move there, if after months of crowded confinement underground they craved privacy and quiet more than anything else. "There's still tons of empty cabin space. We should check that first."
Giliead's brows quirked. "You mean there are more rooms?"
"Bunches." Tremaine showed him the map, pointing to a spot. "We're about here."
As they started down the corridor, Florian asked slowly, "So what if it's not a Gardier, or a creature from the island? What if it is someone trying to kill the Gardier prisoners for revenge?"
Tremaine shrugged slightly, still occupied with the map. "Then we just pretend we didn't find them."
One from The Serpent Sea, second book in The Cloud Roads series. This is a bit of Raksuran gender politics:
Stone scratched his neck, and added thoughtfully, "We almost went to war with Emerald Twilight, before Indigo Cloud left the Reaches."
There was a startled murmur from everyone. "War?" Flower repeated, incredulous.
"Are you serious?" Jade demanded.
Pearl lifted her spines. "Was it something you did? Just tell us."
Stone glared at her. "I was barely ten turns old." Under Jade and Pearl's concentrated stares, he admitted, "Indigo stole Cloud from a daughter queen at Emerald Twilight. I forget her name."
"Stole?" It was Moon's turn to stare. "What...how... That can happen?"
"We can only hope," River put in, nastily. Drift snickered.
Moon met River's gaze in deliberate challenge. "Do you need another beating?"
"Quiet, both of you," Pearl snapped. She turned back to Stone. "Was Cloud taken?"
"Yes. The daughter queen took him when he was too young, and after a few turns, it wasn't working out. There was no clutch yet." Stone shrugged. "At least that's our side of the story. I have no idea if that's actually true or not."
Bone shook his head, affronted. "Is this even in the histories?"
Flower groaned and rubbed her eyes. "I've never seen it there. And I'm fairly certain I'd remember."
This sounded serious. Nobody seemed to think that maybe Emerald Twilight would have forgotten the incident by now. Moon wasn't even sure what they meant by "stolen." Kidnapped, carried off? Like the Fell did with the Arbora? He didn't need anything new to worry about.
Jade tapped her claws on the floor, impatient. "How did it happen?"
Stone said, "This was when Indigo was still a sister queen -- when her mother Cerise was still alive -- and she was visiting Emerald Twilight. She saw Cloud and just...grabbed him. Half the queens in the Reaches got together to settle it to prevent a war, and by that time Indigo had talked Cloud into accepting her and reputing his first queen. The other queens talked Emerald Twilight into letting it go." He spread his hands. "It was a successful match. Indigo succeeded as reigning queen, the court renamed itself after her and Cloud, and they led us to a new colony when this one started to fail. They had eight clutches. But I have no idea how Emerald Twilight sees it."
There was a silence, as everyone digested that. Bell and Knell exchanged an uneasy glance. Bone just looked disgruntled.
Chime cleared his throat. He said tentatively, "Maybe this would be a good time to revisit the discussion about changing the court's name?"
And one from The Ships of Air. This is aboard the Queen Ravenna, a giant steam ocean liner carrying refugees across the sea in another dimension.
Giliead stopped in the corridor, turning into one of the vestibules. "There's something here. Just a trace." He hesitated, touching the dark-panelled wall lightly.
The door he had chosen stood open and Tremaine could hear Rienish voices inside. She stepped past him and knocked on the open door. "Hello? Could we have a word?"
"Yes? Oh, hello." It was a young girl in a jumper, two little boys playing with wooden blocks on the floor at her feet. There was an old woman sitting on the couch, humming to herself and working on a stretch of cloth with thread and needle. She didn't stop working but her cloudy blue eyes lifted to study Tremaine, then Florian and the two Syprians.
"Hello." Florian glanced at Tremaine, correctly interpreted her blank expression, and managed, "We're just...oh, taking a survey. Who's staying in your cabin, and where are they now, and that sort of thing."
"Oh." The girl managed to tear her eyes off the exotic sight of Giliead and Ilias in her doorway and gestured to the old woman. "It's just me and grandmother and the boys. Lady Aviler came asking for volunteers and my mother went."
"In the laundry?" Tremaine asked, eyeing the grandmother. According to the patrols, most of the civilian activity aboard the ship last night had centered in the hospital and the laundry. If the attempt on the Isolation Ward had been made by a sorcerer and not something that had managed to get aboard from the island, then chances were it was a refugee with a good excuse for wandering the ship at night.
The girl assured her, "No, the kitchens."
"Ah." Tremaine glanced at Giliead, asking in Syrnaic, "Is it grandma there?"
"Yes, but...." He shrugged slightly, meeting the old woman's cloudy blue gaze. "She doesn't feel dangerous."
Ilias leaned against the doorframe, explaining, "When they're real old like that and not doing any harm we usually just pretend we didn't find them."
Tremaine nodded, not sure if that said something about Syprians in general or Ilias and Giliead in particular. She turned to the young girl again and mentally switched back to Rienish. "Ah...." Might as well be direct. "Is your grandmother a sorceress or a witch by any chance?"
Either the girl was an excellent actress or was genuinely surprised at the question. "Oh, no, madam."
"So she can't cast?" Florian clarified, glancing at the imperturbable old woman.
"Oh, she can cast and heal, but she can't fly or anything." The girl made an extravagant gesture, apparently indicating Great Spells, major wards and raising fayre islands.
"I see." Tremaine bit her lip in thought. "Has she been in the laundry lately?"
The girl seemed bewildered by Tremaine's fixation on the laundry. "No, do they need help there?"
"I'll mention her to Doctor Divies," Florian put in hastily, taking Tremaine's arm to steer her out of the room. "If she can heal they might need her down in the hospital."
"Oh, she'd like that."
As they returned to the corridor, Tremaine explained in Syrnaic, "Anybody with any real magical talent got recruited for something like the army or the Institute or trapped behind the barrier at Lodun. The ones who are left are going to be either a hundred years old like that woman or completely untrained children."
Giliead looked down the corridor with a preoccupied expression, not seeing their curious audience. "If it's a Rienish wizard, this isn't going to be easy."
Ilias nodded, his face resigned. "And if it's a Gardier wizard, there's a lot of places to hide on this ship."
Tremaine flipped through the map book again, thinking it over. The assigned living areas had been colored in with a pencil, not that that told her much. Lady Aviler and her minions had been keeping a rough list of cabin assignments; they would have to get a look at that too. Some of Second and all of Third Class should be uninhabited. Though, she supposed, there was nothing to keep people from taking those rooms except that they were smaller and less nicely appointed. Some of those rescued from the Gardier might very well have chosen to move there, if after months of crowded confinement underground they craved privacy and quiet more than anything else. "There's still tons of empty cabin space. We should check that first."
Giliead's brows quirked. "You mean there are more rooms?"
"Bunches." Tremaine showed him the map, pointing to a spot. "We're about here."
As they started down the corridor, Florian asked slowly, "So what if it's not a Gardier, or a creature from the island? What if it is someone trying to kill the Gardier prisoners for revenge?"
Tremaine shrugged slightly, still occupied with the map. "Then we just pretend we didn't find them."
Yesterday I actually broke 70,000 words on the third Clou...
Yesterday I actually broke 70,000 words on the third Cloud Roads book. Very big relief! I was getting a little bruised from slamming into that wall again and again. Now let's see if I can actually finish chapter 12.
I'll do another snippet post later today.
Catching up on links:
T.L. Morganfield: A Successful Agent Hunting Expedition She goes into detail about how she went about looking for and finding an agent, all the steps she went through, what to do and not to do. I'm going to add this to my Publishing Information Sites for Beginning Authors page as soon as I get a chance.
Bill Crider's new mystery novel The Wild Hog Murders is available July 5. I've read Bill's mysteries for a long time and absolutely love them. They're funny and engaging, and a lot of them are out on the Kindle now, too.
Courtney Schafer guest blog at The Qwillery: The Art of The Whitefire Crossing by Courtney Schafer and Giveaway I did a blurb for The Whitefire Crossing and highly recommend it.
Ecstatic Days: Preview: The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities
The antho includes some great stuff from established writers like Holly Black, Naomi Novik, China Mieville, Alan Moore, Caitlin R. Kiernan, Garth Nix, Jeffrey Ford, Michael Moorcock, Carrie Vaughn, Lev Grossman, Cherie Priest, and more. But I also wanted to point out that we showcase the work of many amazing new writers, including Kelly Barnhill, Amal El-Mohtar, N.K. Jemisin, Reza Negarestani, and Charles Yu—not to mention the micro-fictions section in the back, which includes several first sales.
The Creative Penn: How Amazon Recommendation Algorithms Help Sell Your Book I knew that publishers (and potential publishers) did pay attention to the ratings and reviews on Amazon, but it also helps show up in the Amazon recommendation system, which can really help a book that is not being pushed by the publisher.
Great article on CNN: Republican mayor in the South becomes unlikely advocate for immigrants
I'll do another snippet post later today.
Catching up on links:
T.L. Morganfield: A Successful Agent Hunting Expedition She goes into detail about how she went about looking for and finding an agent, all the steps she went through, what to do and not to do. I'm going to add this to my Publishing Information Sites for Beginning Authors page as soon as I get a chance.
Bill Crider's new mystery novel The Wild Hog Murders is available July 5. I've read Bill's mysteries for a long time and absolutely love them. They're funny and engaging, and a lot of them are out on the Kindle now, too.
Courtney Schafer guest blog at The Qwillery: The Art of The Whitefire Crossing by Courtney Schafer and Giveaway I did a blurb for The Whitefire Crossing and highly recommend it.
Ecstatic Days: Preview: The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities
The antho includes some great stuff from established writers like Holly Black, Naomi Novik, China Mieville, Alan Moore, Caitlin R. Kiernan, Garth Nix, Jeffrey Ford, Michael Moorcock, Carrie Vaughn, Lev Grossman, Cherie Priest, and more. But I also wanted to point out that we showcase the work of many amazing new writers, including Kelly Barnhill, Amal El-Mohtar, N.K. Jemisin, Reza Negarestani, and Charles Yu—not to mention the micro-fictions section in the back, which includes several first sales.
The Creative Penn: How Amazon Recommendation Algorithms Help Sell Your Book I knew that publishers (and potential publishers) did pay attention to the ratings and reviews on Amazon, but it also helps show up in the Amazon recommendation system, which can really help a book that is not being pushed by the publisher.
Great article on CNN: Republican mayor in the South becomes unlikely advocate for immigrants
June 28, 2011
Snippet Post 2
This is from The Serpent Sea, a sexy bit:
She landed neatly, her claws digging into the sand. Folding her wings, she started toward Moon, picking her way through the lilies. He shifted for her, though he was still standing in the water and it soaked his pants to the knees; his groundling skin was more sensitive and he liked to feel her scales against it.
She caught him around the waist, and he relaxed against her. Her teeth grazed his neck in affectionate greeting, and she asked, "Did you have any trouble flying?"
"No, my shoulder's fine." He was a little sore, but it was the welcome ache of unused muscles finally being pushed to work. He nuzzled her neck. "My back's fine, too."
"I'm tempted to find out for myself." Jade's growl had a warm tone to it. She rubbed her cheek against his. "But we can't afford the time."
and from The Gate of Gods, one of my favorite bits. This is a long snippet, because I like the whole sequence so much. There's a lot of stuff in this last novel of the trilogy that I had so much fun with and really loved writing. It's too bad the three books were too early for the steampunk surge.
Niles stood beside the table in his shirtsleeves, flipping through a book with an annoyed expression. Giaren sat in one of the chairs, writing in a notebook, and Nicholas was sitting on the edge of the work table, eating an apple. Beside him the sphere sat serenely quiet, not even spinning. Niles glanced up, took in her frazzled demeanor, and said in alarm, "Florian, what is it?"
Stepping into the room, Florian flinched as the ship's klaxon blared again from the loudspeaker not far above her head. She had assumed the figure on the stretcher was Nicholas, but Ixion must have done whatever he meant to do to someone else first. "Nicholas, Ixion knows I told you about what he said to me--"
"Said what?" Niles demanded. "What did he say-- Wait, when did you see Ixion? He's supposed to be under guard--"
"He's been slipping past his guards and running around the ship at night," Florian told him impatiently. "But Nicholas, he said he'd take care of you."
Nicholas nodded, imperturbable. "Good. You found him in my cabin?"
She blinked. "Yes. But--" The telephone on the desk interrupted with a shrill ring and Giaren moved hurriedly to answer it. He listened for a moment, an expression of increasing consternation on his face. He turned, covering the receiver, and said urgently, "It's Colonel Averi. He says Lord Chandre's been injured-- He's not clear on specifics but he says it's obvious it's a sorcerous attack."
Niles frowned in confusion. "What sort of sorcerous attack?"
Florian's jaw dropped as the light dawned. She stared at Nicholas in horror. "You didn't."
"Did what?" Nicholas lifted a sardonic brow. He set the apple core on the coffee tray and dusted his hands. "I believe you'll find Ixion used strands of Chandre's hair, taken from a brush or comb on his dressing table. I talked to Giliead about Ixion, back in Capistown. All of Ixion's favorite transformation spells for people who inconvenience him use hair from the victim."
Florian just stared at him. She had seen Nicholas go into Chandre's rooms. He took the hair from Chandre's brush and planted it in his own room, then antagonized Ixion. So Ixion took it, thinking it was Nicholas'. "That's just--" She couldn't think of the right word.
"Oh, God." Niles shut the book, looking appalled. "What did he do to Lord Chandre?"
"What have you done?" Ixion's voice, breathy with rage, echoed the question right next to Florian's ear. With a yelp she spun around, backing away.
"Funny, I was going to ask you that." Nicholas sounded unperturbed, but he slipped off the desk, facing Ixion. Florian darted a look at Niles, who stood calmly, the book still in his hands, watching Ixion. Giaren, she saw with relief, had simply removed his hand from the telephone receiver, so Colonel Averi, hopefully still on the wire, could hear everything.
While Ixion's gaze was locked on Nicholas, Florian put a hand in her pocket, twisted the foil off one of the turnbacks and palmed it as she pulled her hand out. Let this work the way it's supposed to, please, she thought fervently, not certain who she was appealing to.
"You tricked me," Ixion's voice was a low growl, his face twisted with fury. He took a step into the room and the telephone wire suddenly sparked and burst into flame. Giaren dropped the receiver with a gasp and gripped his hand, grimacing in pain. "You foreign motherless bastards tricked me. How dare you--"
Florian used the opportunity to clap a hand over her mouth, apparently in horror, and popped the turnback in. Swallowing it was unexpectedly difficult and it scraped her throat painfully but after a moment of struggle she got it down. Don't cough, don't cough, she begged herself silently.
"How dare I?" Nicholas said mockingly, stepping away from the table. "It was easy. You fooled yourself." He added, as if it had just occurred to him, "Having your head cut off must not be very conducive to constructive thought."
"Let's see how you like it," Ixion snarled, lifting a hand. But Niles struck first.
Florian staggered backward, shoved by an invisible force, buffeted until she tumbled over the chair behind her. She landed hard, pushing herself awkwardly into a sitting position. She saw Nicholas thrown back against the table and slammed into the hearth, that Giaren lay on the floor and Niles reeled against the table, teeth gritted, face red with the effort of keeping on his feet. Ixion staggered back and gripped the doorframe to support himself.
Florian took a gasping breath, suddenly aware the air had been sucked right out of her lungs and the room was freezing cold. She knew what had happened: a flurry of spells and counterspells from Niles and Ixion had charged the ether in the air, temporarily giving it a physical presence. If Ixion and Niles were both incapacitated....
Then Ixion shoved himself free of the doorway and pointed toward Nicholas, who was still struggling to stand.
Florian gasped, scrambled forward, and threw herself in front of Nicholas. She heard someone shout in horror and felt the spell hit like a hard blow to her chest, knocking her back so she sat down hard on the floor. She felt the turnback move in her stomach, a weird sensation that made her yelp. Something formed in the air just in front of her, made out of the gathered force of the spell. For a heartbeat she saw an impossible creature with no head and several gaping maws, writhing in midair, flailing with far too many clawed hands. Then it flung itself back toward Ixion.
His shocked expression as it shot toward him made it all worthwhile.
The spell struck him with full force, slamming him back into the table, jarring it backward on the floor, spilling and breaking bottles and jars, sending papers flying. The sphere shivered, spinning like a top. Ixion reeled across the table, gasping for air, red suffusing his face. He struggled, clawing at his throat, and Florian felt a confused surge of triumph and horror. He did this to himself, she thought, he chose the spell, not-- Gathering himself, Ixion shook his head violently, pushing up off the table, taking deep breaths. The red color faded from his face as he leaned over, spitting out something dark that hit the floor and steamed like hot tar.
Ixion straightened up, wiped his mouth off on his sleeve. He smiled grimly at Florian. "Why flower, I didn't think you had it in you. Too bad I'll have to rip it right out."
Oh, hell. Desperate, Florian looked around, spotting Nicholas' pistol on the floor. Nicholas was just pushing himself up, shaking his head, still dazed. She stretched, grabbing for the gun.
Ixion turned and snatched up the sphere, lifted it even as it spun and threw off sparks in a paroxysm of rage. He whispered a word and cracks shot across the tarnished copper surface. It spun faster and Florian could see light streaming through the metal. She cried out, lurching forward, but light and sound coalesced into an ear-shattering crack and Ixion's hand suddenly held a steaming collection of metal fragments, broken wheels and gears.
Breathing hard, Ixion turned his hand, letting the fragments trickle out and fall scattered to the floor. He looked at her, eyes still furious. "Now what will you do?"
Staring past him, Florian barely heard. There was a man standing framed in the doorway behind Ixion. He was tall and slender, dressed in a somewhat grubby brown sweater and light-colored canvas pants. He had white hair, long enough to just brush his collar and too wispy and soft to be the white of age. His eyes were a soft blue that looked violet in this light.
He caught her eye and winked. "Ack," Florian managed, the most coherent noise she was capable of at the moment.
Ixion must have read her face. He twisted around, staring. The man fixed his gaze on him, his eyes hardening, his smile taking on an edge of contempt. He looked at the broken metal fragments still clutched in Ixion's hand and said, "Oh, it's far too late for that."
Ixion cocked his head, fascinated. "So you've come out of hiding."
The man didn't move. He said, "It's the pettiness that always surprises me. You would think the powerful would have the luxury of not taking offense."
Florian felt a surge of etheric energy that sucked any remaining warmth out of the room and made the electric lights flicker. Ixion's eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to the floor, banging his head on the table on the way down. He sprawled limply on the floor, unmoving.
Florian looked toward the doorway again, but Arisilde was gone. The dank cold in the room made her shiver. "Did I see-- Was that really--"
Niles pushed a broken chair away, managing to struggle to his feet. A cut on his forehead was bleeding freely but he threw a sharp look at Nicholas, saying, "Was it him, Valiarde?"
"Yes." Nicholas stumbled to his feet. "He looked exactly as I last saw him, when I left him on the island." She could tell by the tightness in his face and the way he kept looking away that he was fighting an uncharacteristic surge of emotion. "I thought for a moment-- But when he disappeared, it was obvious I was looking at a ghost."
"A very powerful ghost," Niles added grimly, going to help Giaren extricate himself from a shattered side table.
She landed neatly, her claws digging into the sand. Folding her wings, she started toward Moon, picking her way through the lilies. He shifted for her, though he was still standing in the water and it soaked his pants to the knees; his groundling skin was more sensitive and he liked to feel her scales against it.
She caught him around the waist, and he relaxed against her. Her teeth grazed his neck in affectionate greeting, and she asked, "Did you have any trouble flying?"
"No, my shoulder's fine." He was a little sore, but it was the welcome ache of unused muscles finally being pushed to work. He nuzzled her neck. "My back's fine, too."
"I'm tempted to find out for myself." Jade's growl had a warm tone to it. She rubbed her cheek against his. "But we can't afford the time."
and from The Gate of Gods, one of my favorite bits. This is a long snippet, because I like the whole sequence so much. There's a lot of stuff in this last novel of the trilogy that I had so much fun with and really loved writing. It's too bad the three books were too early for the steampunk surge.
Niles stood beside the table in his shirtsleeves, flipping through a book with an annoyed expression. Giaren sat in one of the chairs, writing in a notebook, and Nicholas was sitting on the edge of the work table, eating an apple. Beside him the sphere sat serenely quiet, not even spinning. Niles glanced up, took in her frazzled demeanor, and said in alarm, "Florian, what is it?"
Stepping into the room, Florian flinched as the ship's klaxon blared again from the loudspeaker not far above her head. She had assumed the figure on the stretcher was Nicholas, but Ixion must have done whatever he meant to do to someone else first. "Nicholas, Ixion knows I told you about what he said to me--"
"Said what?" Niles demanded. "What did he say-- Wait, when did you see Ixion? He's supposed to be under guard--"
"He's been slipping past his guards and running around the ship at night," Florian told him impatiently. "But Nicholas, he said he'd take care of you."
Nicholas nodded, imperturbable. "Good. You found him in my cabin?"
She blinked. "Yes. But--" The telephone on the desk interrupted with a shrill ring and Giaren moved hurriedly to answer it. He listened for a moment, an expression of increasing consternation on his face. He turned, covering the receiver, and said urgently, "It's Colonel Averi. He says Lord Chandre's been injured-- He's not clear on specifics but he says it's obvious it's a sorcerous attack."
Niles frowned in confusion. "What sort of sorcerous attack?"
Florian's jaw dropped as the light dawned. She stared at Nicholas in horror. "You didn't."
"Did what?" Nicholas lifted a sardonic brow. He set the apple core on the coffee tray and dusted his hands. "I believe you'll find Ixion used strands of Chandre's hair, taken from a brush or comb on his dressing table. I talked to Giliead about Ixion, back in Capistown. All of Ixion's favorite transformation spells for people who inconvenience him use hair from the victim."
Florian just stared at him. She had seen Nicholas go into Chandre's rooms. He took the hair from Chandre's brush and planted it in his own room, then antagonized Ixion. So Ixion took it, thinking it was Nicholas'. "That's just--" She couldn't think of the right word.
"Oh, God." Niles shut the book, looking appalled. "What did he do to Lord Chandre?"
"What have you done?" Ixion's voice, breathy with rage, echoed the question right next to Florian's ear. With a yelp she spun around, backing away.
"Funny, I was going to ask you that." Nicholas sounded unperturbed, but he slipped off the desk, facing Ixion. Florian darted a look at Niles, who stood calmly, the book still in his hands, watching Ixion. Giaren, she saw with relief, had simply removed his hand from the telephone receiver, so Colonel Averi, hopefully still on the wire, could hear everything.
While Ixion's gaze was locked on Nicholas, Florian put a hand in her pocket, twisted the foil off one of the turnbacks and palmed it as she pulled her hand out. Let this work the way it's supposed to, please, she thought fervently, not certain who she was appealing to.
"You tricked me," Ixion's voice was a low growl, his face twisted with fury. He took a step into the room and the telephone wire suddenly sparked and burst into flame. Giaren dropped the receiver with a gasp and gripped his hand, grimacing in pain. "You foreign motherless bastards tricked me. How dare you--"
Florian used the opportunity to clap a hand over her mouth, apparently in horror, and popped the turnback in. Swallowing it was unexpectedly difficult and it scraped her throat painfully but after a moment of struggle she got it down. Don't cough, don't cough, she begged herself silently.
"How dare I?" Nicholas said mockingly, stepping away from the table. "It was easy. You fooled yourself." He added, as if it had just occurred to him, "Having your head cut off must not be very conducive to constructive thought."
"Let's see how you like it," Ixion snarled, lifting a hand. But Niles struck first.
Florian staggered backward, shoved by an invisible force, buffeted until she tumbled over the chair behind her. She landed hard, pushing herself awkwardly into a sitting position. She saw Nicholas thrown back against the table and slammed into the hearth, that Giaren lay on the floor and Niles reeled against the table, teeth gritted, face red with the effort of keeping on his feet. Ixion staggered back and gripped the doorframe to support himself.
Florian took a gasping breath, suddenly aware the air had been sucked right out of her lungs and the room was freezing cold. She knew what had happened: a flurry of spells and counterspells from Niles and Ixion had charged the ether in the air, temporarily giving it a physical presence. If Ixion and Niles were both incapacitated....
Then Ixion shoved himself free of the doorway and pointed toward Nicholas, who was still struggling to stand.
Florian gasped, scrambled forward, and threw herself in front of Nicholas. She heard someone shout in horror and felt the spell hit like a hard blow to her chest, knocking her back so she sat down hard on the floor. She felt the turnback move in her stomach, a weird sensation that made her yelp. Something formed in the air just in front of her, made out of the gathered force of the spell. For a heartbeat she saw an impossible creature with no head and several gaping maws, writhing in midair, flailing with far too many clawed hands. Then it flung itself back toward Ixion.
His shocked expression as it shot toward him made it all worthwhile.
The spell struck him with full force, slamming him back into the table, jarring it backward on the floor, spilling and breaking bottles and jars, sending papers flying. The sphere shivered, spinning like a top. Ixion reeled across the table, gasping for air, red suffusing his face. He struggled, clawing at his throat, and Florian felt a confused surge of triumph and horror. He did this to himself, she thought, he chose the spell, not-- Gathering himself, Ixion shook his head violently, pushing up off the table, taking deep breaths. The red color faded from his face as he leaned over, spitting out something dark that hit the floor and steamed like hot tar.
Ixion straightened up, wiped his mouth off on his sleeve. He smiled grimly at Florian. "Why flower, I didn't think you had it in you. Too bad I'll have to rip it right out."
Oh, hell. Desperate, Florian looked around, spotting Nicholas' pistol on the floor. Nicholas was just pushing himself up, shaking his head, still dazed. She stretched, grabbing for the gun.
Ixion turned and snatched up the sphere, lifted it even as it spun and threw off sparks in a paroxysm of rage. He whispered a word and cracks shot across the tarnished copper surface. It spun faster and Florian could see light streaming through the metal. She cried out, lurching forward, but light and sound coalesced into an ear-shattering crack and Ixion's hand suddenly held a steaming collection of metal fragments, broken wheels and gears.
Breathing hard, Ixion turned his hand, letting the fragments trickle out and fall scattered to the floor. He looked at her, eyes still furious. "Now what will you do?"
Staring past him, Florian barely heard. There was a man standing framed in the doorway behind Ixion. He was tall and slender, dressed in a somewhat grubby brown sweater and light-colored canvas pants. He had white hair, long enough to just brush his collar and too wispy and soft to be the white of age. His eyes were a soft blue that looked violet in this light.
He caught her eye and winked. "Ack," Florian managed, the most coherent noise she was capable of at the moment.
Ixion must have read her face. He twisted around, staring. The man fixed his gaze on him, his eyes hardening, his smile taking on an edge of contempt. He looked at the broken metal fragments still clutched in Ixion's hand and said, "Oh, it's far too late for that."
Ixion cocked his head, fascinated. "So you've come out of hiding."
The man didn't move. He said, "It's the pettiness that always surprises me. You would think the powerful would have the luxury of not taking offense."
Florian felt a surge of etheric energy that sucked any remaining warmth out of the room and made the electric lights flicker. Ixion's eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to the floor, banging his head on the table on the way down. He sprawled limply on the floor, unmoving.
Florian looked toward the doorway again, but Arisilde was gone. The dank cold in the room made her shiver. "Did I see-- Was that really--"
Niles pushed a broken chair away, managing to struggle to his feet. A cut on his forehead was bleeding freely but he threw a sharp look at Nicholas, saying, "Was it him, Valiarde?"
"Yes." Nicholas stumbled to his feet. "He looked exactly as I last saw him, when I left him on the island." She could tell by the tightness in his face and the way he kept looking away that he was fighting an uncharacteristic surge of emotion. "I thought for a moment-- But when he disappeared, it was obvious I was looking at a ghost."
"A very powerful ghost," Niles added grimly, going to help Giaren extricate himself from a shattered side table.
ApolloCon, the Actual Convention
Yesterday I spent catching up on everything, finishing off a couple of blog posts that I owe, worked on my Doctor Who essay a bit more, and got about 775 words toward my Clarion West Write-a-Thon goal. I didn't try to count any of the re-writing I did last week, since I took out almost as much as I wrote. I'll do another snippet post later today.
One of the highlights of the con for me was the little girl who won the masquerade. She came as the Book Fairy, decked out in book covers, and had the cover of The Cloud Roads around her neck:
The Book Fairy
This is me and Kim Kofmel, at my guest of honor interview.
Friday I had the Opening Ceremonies, plus:
Not So Happily Ever After - Alexis Glynn Latner (M), Derly Ramirez, Martha Wells, Rhonda Eudaly, Stina Leicht
We talked about the real endings of fairy tales and the variants, the one where Hansel and Gretal are actually captured by the Devil and he tries to bleed Hansel to death on a "sawhorse," the real story of Sleeping Beauty, etc. I tried to remember the one which has a second half that was taken out over time, that when the princess is saved by the prince and taken back to his kingdom, she has to defeat his evil (mother or stepmother or wife) and got through various trials to save him. And also what lessons they were trying to teach, how the changes effected that. I also recommended Thorns, the first short story I ever sold back in 1995, and is a retelling of Sleeping Beauty from the witch's perspective.
Saturday:
No WEMs Allowed: Multiculturalism Steampunk - Alexis Glatner, Kathy Thornton, Martha Wells, O.M. Grey (M), Mel White
We talked about setting SF or fantasy steampunk in other countries, other cultures, other times. I'm still a big advocate for Ancient Egyptian steampunk. I think it would be awesome. And we also got into steampunk set in India and Ancient China, and talked a bit about the exploration fleet that China sent out at one time, pointing out that steampunk is often about adventurous exploration, and that a steampunk fantasy or alt history starring Zheng He would be awesome.
I also did the Guest of Honor interview, an autographing, and a reading (I read from The Serpent Sea, so it was a pretty full day.
Sunday
Researching Things That Don't Exist - Alexis Glynn Llatner (M), Martha Wells, Linda Donahue, Julia Mandala
We talked about research as a way to help you create fantasy settings and cultures, that knowing what the real thing is like makes the flights of fancy more real, and how research spurs your imagination. I recommended Atlas Obscura as a great place to get ideas and get your creative thinking going.
World in a Box, Just Add Water - Martha Wells (M), Kerry Tolan, Linda Donahue
This was a panel on worldbuilding, and we talked about where you start, how far you go (leaving spaces open for later development), not putting up boundaries to the reader's imagination. That again knowing how real things work helps you learn how to build fantastic things. About having a structure that is logical and internally consistent, even though that logic is not our Earth logic and does not use our physics, and bears no resemblance to the way things work in the real world.
And that was it!
One of the highlights of the con for me was the little girl who won the masquerade. She came as the Book Fairy, decked out in book covers, and had the cover of The Cloud Roads around her neck:
The Book Fairy
This is me and Kim Kofmel, at my guest of honor interview.
Friday I had the Opening Ceremonies, plus:
Not So Happily Ever After - Alexis Glynn Latner (M), Derly Ramirez, Martha Wells, Rhonda Eudaly, Stina Leicht
We talked about the real endings of fairy tales and the variants, the one where Hansel and Gretal are actually captured by the Devil and he tries to bleed Hansel to death on a "sawhorse," the real story of Sleeping Beauty, etc. I tried to remember the one which has a second half that was taken out over time, that when the princess is saved by the prince and taken back to his kingdom, she has to defeat his evil (mother or stepmother or wife) and got through various trials to save him. And also what lessons they were trying to teach, how the changes effected that. I also recommended Thorns, the first short story I ever sold back in 1995, and is a retelling of Sleeping Beauty from the witch's perspective.
Saturday:
No WEMs Allowed: Multiculturalism Steampunk - Alexis Glatner, Kathy Thornton, Martha Wells, O.M. Grey (M), Mel White
We talked about setting SF or fantasy steampunk in other countries, other cultures, other times. I'm still a big advocate for Ancient Egyptian steampunk. I think it would be awesome. And we also got into steampunk set in India and Ancient China, and talked a bit about the exploration fleet that China sent out at one time, pointing out that steampunk is often about adventurous exploration, and that a steampunk fantasy or alt history starring Zheng He would be awesome.
I also did the Guest of Honor interview, an autographing, and a reading (I read from The Serpent Sea, so it was a pretty full day.
Sunday
Researching Things That Don't Exist - Alexis Glynn Llatner (M), Martha Wells, Linda Donahue, Julia Mandala
We talked about research as a way to help you create fantasy settings and cultures, that knowing what the real thing is like makes the flights of fancy more real, and how research spurs your imagination. I recommended Atlas Obscura as a great place to get ideas and get your creative thinking going.
World in a Box, Just Add Water - Martha Wells (M), Kerry Tolan, Linda Donahue
This was a panel on worldbuilding, and we talked about where you start, how far you go (leaving spaces open for later development), not putting up boundaries to the reader's imagination. That again knowing how real things work helps you learn how to build fantastic things. About having a structure that is logical and internally consistent, even though that logic is not our Earth logic and does not use our physics, and bears no resemblance to the way things work in the real world.
And that was it!
June 27, 2011
NASA VIP Tour Post V
Okay, this should be my last photo post. Here's a guide to all the others:
Mission Control and Docking with the Space Station, and the Stardust Lab.
Neutral Buoyancy Lab and the Antarctic Meteorite Collection Lab
More Mission Control photos
Building 9 and the Lunar Rover and the Shuttle Mock-up
This is the rest of Building 9, and the Lunar Viewing Lab, and Rocket Park:
This is the view from the commander's seat of the shuttle mock-up.
This is the Soyuz. It makes the shuttle look roomy.
These are mock-up space station modules:
ARES, where the cool labs are.
The Lunar rock lab viewing area:
And this is the Saturn V at Rocket Park:
It's like steampunk art.
Mission Control and Docking with the Space Station, and the Stardust Lab.
Neutral Buoyancy Lab and the Antarctic Meteorite Collection Lab
More Mission Control photos
Building 9 and the Lunar Rover and the Shuttle Mock-up
This is the rest of Building 9, and the Lunar Viewing Lab, and Rocket Park:
This is the view from the commander's seat of the shuttle mock-up.
This is the Soyuz. It makes the shuttle look roomy.
These are mock-up space station modules:
ARES, where the cool labs are.
The Lunar rock lab viewing area:
And this is the Saturn V at Rocket Park:
It's like steampunk art.
NASA Photos are back
ETA: Photos are back! Urge to kill Live Journal fading!
If the photos every reappear, here's a guide to my NASA VIP Tour photo posts so far:
Mission Control and Docking with the Space Station, and the Stardust Lab.
Neutral Buoyancy Lab and the Antarctic Meteorite Collection Lab
More Mission Control photos
Building 9 and the Lunar Rover and the Shuttle Mock-up
These two Facebook galleries should be public, so some of the photos are available here and here.
If the photos every reappear, here's a guide to my NASA VIP Tour photo posts so far:
Mission Control and Docking with the Space Station, and the Stardust Lab.
Neutral Buoyancy Lab and the Antarctic Meteorite Collection Lab
More Mission Control photos
Building 9 and the Lunar Rover and the Shuttle Mock-up
These two Facebook galleries should be public, so some of the photos are available here and here.
